


Seeking Truth

by wickedblackbird



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-06
Updated: 2013-03-06
Packaged: 2017-12-04 11:45:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/710438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wickedblackbird/pseuds/wickedblackbird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It made no sense. Something had to be beneath the skin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seeking Truth

**Author's Note:**

> written for the prompt: After the battle on Jotunheim Loki cuts himself where his skin turns blue.

He stared at his forearm, twisting it to see all the way around. The skin remained smooth and unblemished - pale and pink as ever. There was no sign of the blue that had suffused it when the Jotun had grabbed him. Nor was there any indication of the frost bite that had eaten into Volstagg's arm.

It made no _sense._

If he closed his eyes, he could still see the rush of blue in his skin, could still feel the rush of cold that had spread from the Jotun's hand. It had not been the stinging, burning cold that he had expected. Instead it had been welcoming.

Angrily, he swept the books from his desk, heedless of where they fell. He dug his hands into his eyes, feeling the tight ache in his head increase. Pulling away, he blinked at the spots in his vision, and stared once more at his arm.

_It still wasn't blue._

Had it ever truly been blue in the first place? Perhaps it had all been in his imagination.

And, yet... Yet. He had proof in the form of his shattered gauntlet - the remains brittle and cracked from where the cold had eaten straight through. He had seen it. Felt it. The cold and the blue and the complete lack of pain. Had he been cursed or enchanted in some way? What had they done to him?

With his other hand, he pressed at the delicate skin of the inside of his wrist. The marks where his fingers had been paled to white, and then flushed red as the blood came rushing back before settling back into the natural colour. He did it again, harder, and watched as the red stayed. It was red - bright and healthy and normal. Frustrated, he squeezed with all his might, fingers digging sharply into the tender flesh. The pain sharpened his focus, and when he pulled away purple and blue were creeping in along the edges of the red.

He stared at the bruises. There was the blue. Inside, under the skin. Whatever the Jotun had done to him, _it was under his skin._

Frantically, Loki grasped about for something, some tool, to aid him in getting at the blue. He had to see - he had to know it was real. His groping hand encountered one of his knives, and he gripped it tightly. The blade bit into his palm with a sharp sting. Dully, he peered at the red gash. It burned in a way that the cold had not, throbbing and angry and red.

Still no sign of the blue. Perhaps the spell simply had not spread that far yet. Who knew what it was doing to the other arm, what odd changes it was making just below the skin.

Forcing his injured hand to close around the hilt of the knife, he turned back to his bruised wrist. Causing himself pain was not a practice in which Loki generally reveled, but he had to know. He drew the blade quickly across his wrist, gasping at the burn.

Blood welled up out of the cut, still boldly red. He moved the knife further down his wrist, letting it rest - cold and too familiar - where the Jotun's hand had grasped. More slowly this time, he pulled the knife carefully across, hissing through his teeth at the bite of metal through skin. Loki stared as more blood dripped down his arm. It was still red.

But I saw it, he thought hysterically. It had been blue, and it did not wither.

Something had to be beneath the skin.

He knew what he had to do. Breath hitching slightly, Loki turned the knife on its side and slid the tip of the blade into the cut. The pain increased, fiery and angry, roaring through his arm. More blood. More red. He pushed the knife deeper still.

Loki had skinned animals before - rabbits and deer and other assorted creatures caught hunting with Thor and the Warriors Three. It was always done quickly and with brutal efficiency. He could not bring himself to do that to his own arm, though the slowly methodical way he cut through the thin flesh was torture. Sweat dripped down his face, and whimpers escaped his mouth unheeded. 

The searing pain burning through his arm was what he had expected to feel on Jotunheim, and he embraced it. It was proof of something, though he could not say what, and was as far from that embracing chill as he could be.

Blood began to drip to the polished floor beneath him, but Loki could not tear his eyes from the steady, crawling progress of the knife up his wrist. He did not understand how it could still be so red. Surely the blue had to be there somewhere.

Finally, he completed the cut, and could not delay it any longer. The moment of truth. Clenching his eyes tightly shut and breathing heavily through his nose, he flayed back the skin of his wrist.

Wrenching open his eyes, he stared at the glistening mess beneath. Bone and tendons and veins glared harshly back up at him, sticky and wet with bright red blood. Dimly, he was aware that his hands were shaking, the trembling jarring up his wounded arm in sharp, bright bursts. But he could not stop staring.

"Loki?" He heard his mother's voice behind him. A pause, then a terrified: " _Loki!_ "

She was shouting for someone to fetch the healer, to fetch Odin, fetch Thor, but he could not look away. Then, Frigga was kneeling before him, and he could see the red staining into her white dress.

"Loki." Her voice shook. "Loki, sweetheart, look at me."

He looked up into his mother's horrified face, shaking and afraid.

"Mother?" he asked, and his voice sounded very small. "Mother, I think I've been cursed. But, I can't find it."

And it was still all so red, even as his vision faded to black.


End file.
